


Capture the Knight

by ventusproximus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Strip Chess, but it's wholesome, general silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29418534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventusproximus/pseuds/ventusproximus
Summary: There's method to Rodimus' madness, his closest advisor just doesn't know it yet. Neither does anyone else, but that just makes the whole thing more exciting.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet (implied), Minimus Ambus/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Rodimus | Rodimus Prime/Ultra Magnus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Capture the Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Some silly fluff, in time for Valentine's Day.  
> My chess knowledge may or may not be rusty, so please forgive any inaccuracies.

“Ultra Magnus, acknowledge.” Megatron’s voice broke the silence that occupied every corner of the enforcer’s office. He and the captain were good enough friends that opening a comm link was unusual. If Megatron wanted something, he could come directly to Magnus’ door and talk about it over a glass of engex. Still, the life of a captain was a busy one, especially if one’s co-captain happened to be Rodimus. Setting aside his stack of reports, he tapped a finger to the side of his helm and responded. 

“Acknowledged. What can I do for you today, Captain?” There was no need for formalities; this call was secure. Yet, it felt like the right thing to do.

“There’s been a situation. Report of a loud noise coming from one of the common rooms near my quarters, accompanied by weak rumbling.” 

“That can’t be right. If someone had filed a noise complaint, it’d have went through the proper channels and been on my desk already.” 

“That’s because it didn’t go through them. I’m filing this complaint directly to you.” Something in Megatron’s voice told Magnus that the phrase was actually code for, “Rather than beat the living daylights out of whoever caused the explosion, I’m going to clean up my hab suite in peace.”

“I’ll get on it right away, then. It’s been a slow day, only six minor infractions and one count of loitering.”

“Glad I could give you some momentary reprieve from your boredom, Magnus.” 

Megatron hung up just then, and if the enforcer had to guess, he was probably piecing together a long string of profanities with the kind of eloquence only he knew how to achieve. Well, Magnus wasn’t about to waste any time. He rose from his desk—making sure to gingerly push his chair in afterward—and made for the common room at a brisk pace. 

* * *

Magnus made it to the room in question, one quick walk later. From just beyond the door he could make out the vibrant, chipper voice of his _other_ captain. He was talking back to a softer voice, one that had an unmistakable lilt: Drift. Magnus pressed an audio receptor to it, and sure enough, it was a perfectly normal conversation—as far as those two were concerned. He couldn’t fathom why Megatron would go out of his way to make a personal complaint, but it was his duty to honor it, as the single most responsible mech aboard the _Lost Light_. Magnus gently rapped a knuckle against the door. 

“Captain?” he said aloud. 

“Come in!” Rodimus shouted, not bothering to ask what Magnus’ intentions were. 

Magnus had planned everything he was going to say even before the doors slid open. Every sentence was meticulously crafted, down to the articles. But no amount of perfectionism could have prepared him for the hellscape that greeted him as soon as he’d stepped over the threshold. 

There was Rodimus, his back to Magnus, in the center of a room that appeared to have been the site of a firebombing. Every table and chair in the room was upturned, smoldering, or both. Streaks of ash covered the floor and walls. Specks of it were dancing in the air all around him, settling on his brilliant orange chassis like the snow he’d seen back on Earth. But unlike snow, the room was oppressively hot. Without registering it, Magnus’ fans had already kicked in. All in all, he looked beautiful, a slender flame lighting up a dead, gray space. 

Not beautiful enough to stop Magnus from letting out one of the loudest screams in recent memory. 

It was enough to make Rodimus jump several feet in the air, disturbing the fine layer of soot gathered on his shoulders. Something stirred far off in the corner of the lounge, near one of the fallen tables.The other voice Magnus had originally heard, so deeply hidden under the mess that he was virtually camouflaged. _Drift_. The only things that gave him away were his sudden jolting and the smoke coming off the singed tips of his helm. Any more gray on his paint job, and he’d start to look like Deadlock once again. 

Magnus was still screaming. He was screaming, and the two smaller mechs were looking on in horror. 

“Magnus?” Rodimus asked, walking over to where he stood. He was hot to the touch as he lightly clapped the arm of his trusted advisor. “Could you stop with the screaming? The whole ship’s going to think you’ve been murdered. That you’re currently being murdered, in the slowest way possible.” 

An order was an order, so Magnus complied, reluctantly. He was rooted in place and the fingers on his right hand now had a nervous twitch, but his vocal processor was somehow still at optimal performance. Clearing his intake, he began, “Your co-captain filed a noise complaint and I set out to investigate. Do you want to attempt to explain the warzone you and Drift seem to be standing in?” 

Rodimus grinned. “Do I want to? No, of course not. But I know you’re not gonna leave us alone until I do, so pull up a chair and get comfortable.” 

Magnus did no such thing. Rodimus continued on regardless. “It’s actually not that long of a story. Drift wanted to see me flame up close, so I did it.” 

A deep, primal rage was building in Magnus’ spark. He could feel another scream coming on, but he bit it back. “And you thought to do it onboard the ship, in a common room?” he asked through his clenched jaw. 

“Yup.” 

“That’s all you have to say? ‘Yup’?” 

“Yup. I still have some juice left if you wanna see me do it. You ready over there, Drift?” 

“ _No!_ ” Magnus shouted, just loud enough to make Rodimus shrink back and let go of his arm. “The only thing I want to see is this room being straightened up. Sooner or later, another 'bot is going to come in here, looking to spend some leisure time, and wonder why they’ve suddenly been teleported to Simanzi.” 

“Nice joke, have you been saving that one? Anyway, Mags, if you want the place clean, you could always, you know, do it yourself?” There was that smile again. The smile that meant Rodimus was attempting to get what he wanted. 

“I’m not your maid!” 

“Do you want to be?” 

Stunned silence. 

“Look, _you_ don’t want to clean this room up, and _I_ sure as hell don’t want to, so I’ll cut you a deal. We compete to see who’ll do it.” 

“And why would I agree to that, Rodimus?” 

“Because as your captain, you have no way of actually forcing me to do it, and if I leave this room filthy for long enough, you’ll just cave in and do it anyway. Might as well add some stakes, right?” 

Magnus fought back the urge to vent loudly. “Fine. Just give me a moment. Megatron wanted me to call him back.” He tapped the side of his helm once more and gave the mech’s frequency a ring. 

“Hello again, Magnus,” Megatron said, still clearly irritable. “I trust you finished your investigation.” 

“I did, and you don’t have to worry about it. It was just Drift and Rodimus,” Magnus responded, shooting Drift a sharp look as the mech inched toward the door. 

“I should have known. Thanks again.” And with that, Megatron signed off, leaving the enforcer with his two troublemakers. 

Clearing his intake again, Magnus directed his attention back to Rodimus, who was idly brushing soot off his finish. “Right, then. What did you have in mind, and how high will the odds be stacked against me?” 

Drift had skittered the rest of the way to the door and slid it open before stopping at the threshold. “I’m going to go see Ratchet for some repairs. My intuition tells me that the heat melted something dangerously close to my brain module.” The spiritualist flashed the remaining two a genuine-looking smile. “Have fun with your game,” he finished, rushing out of the room faster than any reasonable mech would. 

“Bye!” Rodimus shouted after him. “Anyway… I think you’ll like this one, Mags. You know that Earth game you and Megatron always play? We play a round of that, and the loser’s gotta be the one to clean the place.” 

“The game is chess. Do you even know how to play?” Magnus asked, looking for a table and set of chairs that were still in working order. 

“How hard could it be? I’ve seen you two go at it about a million times.” The captain was already following after him eagerly. “Looks boring, though. And that’s why—” He grabbed Magnus’ arm and hugged it. “—I say we add some additional stakes. Every time I kill one of your pieces—” 

“Capture, Rodimus. Every time you _capture_ a piece.” 

“Don’t interrupt. Every time I capture one of your pieces, you’ve got to…” Rodimus paused and shot the other a quizzical look. “Does your armor come off in pieces?” 

“What do you mean?” All the while, Magnus was still setting up, pulling an especially large chair for himself and dusting it off. 

“Let’s say you only wanted to take off one of your hands, or just your helm. You can do that, right?” 

“I can. But what—” 

“Cool. So here’s the deal: every time I capture a piece of yours, you have to take off a piece of armor.” Squeezing the taller mech’s arm tighter, he added, “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen humans do it in movies before.” 

Rodimus didn’t resist as Magnus scooped him up and deposited him in his chair. “For the sake of avoiding an argument, fine. It’s not as if you haven’t seen me without my armor on.” 

“And if you capture one of my pieces, I’ll clean a tiny bit of this room. Let’s say I’ll scrub one square foot of floor for every piece.” They were both seated now, and Rodimus had already taken to playing with one of Magnus’ hands. He was dirtying it on purpose, and they both knew it. 

“You must be confident in your nonexistent chess ability if you’re willing to stack the odds against _yourself_ ,” Magnus said. “If that’s all, I can go retrieve the cleaning equipment.” 

“Hold on, I’ve got one more rule. You love those, right? Sit down.” On pure reflex, Magnus sat back down. “When I win, I want a date.” 

“You want a date,” the enforcer repeated dryly. 

“I want a date, and it’s gonna be at “Visages”, and I’m gonna make you pick up the tab. Y’know, after you finish tidying up the place, because no way in hell am I letting you win.” 

“Naturally, Captain. While I hesitate to entertain hypotheticals, what exactly does a ‘date’ with you entail?” 

Rodimus vented loudly. “We sit down, I order everything I want off the menu, I tell you about my day, you do the same while you pay for everything, and we have a good laugh while walking back to our hab suites. Don’t you have a standard protocol for dates?” 

“I have better protocols to follow,” Magnus replied. Gently, he pried off the hand that was holding his own. “I’ll be back with everything in the next five minutes.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

* * *

Shockingly, Rodimus was exactly where Ultra Magnus had left him. He hadn’t even gotten up out of his chair to wander around, in favor of sitting cross-legged at the table. 

“You sure took your time,” Rodimus said coolly, as if he were on-duty. 

“I had to borrow the chess set from Megatron. We only have the one, you know. Anyway…” Magnus began, dropping the cleaning supplies off at the door and joining his company at the table. “...I’ll set the board up now. Which color did you want?” 

Rodimus propped his elbows up on the table and rested his head in his ashen hands. “Black. Does it matter?” 

“White moves first,” Magnus replied, not looking up from the board. Within moments, each piece was in its proper place, immaculately centered on each square. 

“Seriously? I’ll take white, then.” Without hesitation, Rodimus grabbed the board and turned the whites toward him, disturbing the pieces in the process. Magnus swiftly moved to readjust them. As much as the massive 'bot hated his captain’s occasional recklessness, couldn’t help but give a smile. A small, almost imperceptible smile that most mechs wouldn’t think twice about, but a smile nonetheless. 

“What?” Rodimus shot accusingly. 

“Yes? We can begin whenever you’re ready, by the way. It’s your move.” 

Rodimus shoved the first of his pawns forward. “That face you made. You’re—You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” 

“I believe most mechs refer to my previous action as ‘venting’, Captain. Even hard-afts like me, as you put it, do that every now and then.” 

“Normal mechs don’t vent like that.”

The game was on, and Magnus felt confident enough to go on the early offensive. Without giving Rodimus’ sour expression a second thought, he slid one of his own pawns forward by two files. 

As he contemplated his next move, Rodimus stretched one of his legs underneath the table and ran it along the length of one of the enforcer’s. “You know what?” he chimed. “I’ll let it slide. You might as well get your kicks in now, because you’re gonna get thrashed either way. If seeing you lose to _Megatron_ almost every night is any indication, that is.” 

Magnus indulged in his captain’s teasing. He’d mobilized his bishop, and Rodimus left him a perfectly good pawn for the taking. “Megatron has always been a master strategist, and I’ve always been a soldier at spark,” he explained, swiping the white pawn off the board. “I believe you have a bit of cleaning to do now."

“Not a problem,” Rodimus said, rising. He grabbed the mop, dunked it in the bucket of cleaning solution, and began wiping away at the floor, only to stop a few moments in. “Er, Mags? Could you show me how much a square foot is?” 

Magnus went to Rodimus’ side at once. “As a rough estimate—” he gestured at the floor with his hands, “—about this long and this wide. But to ensure utmost precision…” He trailed off, grabbing a retractable measuring device from the neatly-organized pile of cleaning supplies, “Exactly this much.” For clarity, he gently pried the mop out of Rodimus’ hands and outlined a square along the floor before giving it back. 

“Cool. Knew I could count on you,” Rodimus retorted, shooing Magnus away with the damp mop. It was a frustratingly sloppy job, but he wiped away enough ash from the area for it to be considered clean enough for the average mech to walk on. With that done, he returned to the table and puzzled over the board. The next few moves were played in silence, which Magnus found deeply refreshing.

“Bet you didn’t see _this_ coming!” Rodimus loudly proclaimed, capturing the pawn Magnus had set out as bait. The enforcer graciously plucked it off the playing field and dropped it into his captain’s outstretched hand. “Now stri—” 

“Hold off a moment, Rodimus.” Magnus moved his knight in and took the offending enemy pawn out of the game. “There. Please continue.” 

Groaning, Rodimus got back up and strode over to the area he’d begun cleaning. This time, he took the handheld polisher and knelt on the floor. “Since we traded blows,” he began, noticeably arching his back as he scrubbed the floor in what could only generously be considered a square foot, “Take off your helmet. I want to see that stupid, cute little face of yours.”

Magnus complied. Taking off only one piece of armor at a time was an unusual experience, to say the least, but it was made marginally less embarrassing by the fact that his true face had just been called cute. 

Then again, maybe that only added to the embarrassment. 

Stoically, Magnus removed the helmet and set it neatly aside. And Rodimus, still sitting on his knees on the floor, couldn’t hide his momentary astonishment. For an estimated six-point-seven seconds, the smaller 'bot forgot he was supposed to return to the table and make his next move. 

“There’s nothing under there,” Rodimus said, apparently mortified. His footsteps and the screeching of his chair’s legs indicated his return to the game. “How are you even able to speak right now?” 

Magnus didn’t respond. Not that he could, even if he wanted to. Hopefully Rodimus would get the message that he could neither see nor speak without his head on. Rules _were_ rules, however.

“Um… This is going to be really weird. Can you at least take off enough to show your face? Frag, can you even hear me under there?” 

Fortunately, Minimus could hear, and blindly removed enough of his chest plating to reveal his head and neck. He didn’t need to see his reflection to know that he looked absolutely ridiculous. “Here I am,” he said, feeling more naked than he did when he was unarmored. “The need to see outweighs the need for me to enforce the rules _you_ put in place, so I’ll allow it.” 

“Okay, that was totally worth being set up for. Primus, you’re adorable,” Rodimus crooned. 

The newfound motivation to see more of Minimus must have worked, because he’d finally begun to move his knights and bishops into position. Even after he finished taking his turn, Rodimus leaned into one of his hands and stared dreamily up at his opponent. 

Despite himself, Magnus’ fuel pump was already picking up the pace and flooding his head module with warmth. He decided to switch up his tactics and play a little more defensively, on the off chance Rodimus was a faster learner than he’d let on. 

The next several moves were more or less uneventful, with each mech creeping through the ranks and files. That was, until Magnus was ready to break out his queen. 

Rodimus gaped at the loss of his bishop. “That was just cruel.” But he stayed true to his word and went back to cleaning. As he knelt down and inched the bucket of solution over to where he’d been working, he somehow managed to tip it and spill about a quarter of its contents onto his lap. Minimus visibly flinched at the sight of it.

The ash washed away to reveal a large portion of his usual radiant orange finish, and create a similarly spotless puddle all around the mech. “Whoops,” Rodimus muttered idly. “That definitely looks like more than a square foot to me, though.” He gave each leg a little shake before striding back over and making a near-instantaneous capture. 

“Let’s work from the top down,” Rodimus said. “Since you’ve already lost your head—” he said, leaning over to run a sudsy hand down the plates of Magnus’ torso, “—let’s just get rid of this right here. You can do that, yeah?” _It’s only cleaning solution,_ Magnus told himself in order to hold back another flinch. _Definitely not grime._

“Of course, Captain. Though you’ll have to remove your hand first.” 

“Right.” Rodimus pulled his hand away and sunk back into his chair at a torturously slow pace. His optics didn’t leave Magnus’ as the latter mech carefully popped off the pieces in question and set them aside. It made for an awkward experience, but there was something about seeing Rodimus happy that made him almost unaware of how ridiculous his current position was. Virtually all of his body, from the waist up, was sticking out. 

“Cute…” Rodimus muttered as Magnus castled his king. He wanted terribly to ask him to be quiet and focus on the game—Primus knew he didn’t want to spend his time off like this—but knew the shorter mech wouldn’t humor his request for a single second. So he went on ignoring his thundering fuel pump and waited for Rodimus’ reaction. 

“Hmm,” Rodimus murmured, apparently deep in thought. He tapped his knight idly then drew his hand away, choosing instead to move one of his rooks. 

“Touch-move rule.” 

“What?” 

“Touch-move rule,” Magnus repeated. “It dictates that the player must move the first piece they touch, on their turn. The only exception, that is, being if said piece cannot make any legal moves.” 

“You say that like I’ve played this game before, Mini.” 

“You’ve seen us play it!” 

“Yeah, so? It’s not like I’ve ever seen you two violate the touch-move rule. A beginner’s gotta start somewhere. Anyway, I moved the knight. Your turn.” 

Immediately after Magnus made to move his queen, Rodimus piped up again. “Maybe I’ll get an order of those fancy little hors d'oeuvres they have at ‘Visages’. You know, the ones shaped like spirals.” He made circular motions with one of his fingers.

“Counting your turbofoxes before they’re forged?” Magnus responded, while making a grab for his captain’s last remaining knight. 

Like clockwork, Rodimus, for lack of a better word, walked off to clean his fair share. By this point he’d already mopped enough space to accommodate a single chair, which was impressive by Rodimus standards. “Gloat all you want. Gloat your whole spark out, because it’s not going to save you from me.” He paused briefly to stretch along the floor, polishing a spot that was nearly out of his reach. “I’ll wipe that itty bitty little mustache right off your face, then go for the smug grin you were probably hiding under there.” 

“Rodimus, is there a reason why you’re so…” Magnus had to collect himself. He had to collect himself in front of his own captain, and he was being smirked at for it. He tried again. “Is there a reason why you’re cleaning the floor like _that_?” 

“Like what?” Rodimus fired back, sitting back up to stretch his arms above his head.

“Like you’re trying to distract me.” Magnus suddenly missed having his helmet on. 

“Why, is it working?” 

“No, absolutely not. It looks like you’ve done enough over there, so please come back and take your turn.” 

And come back Rodimus did, but not before bending over at the waist to brush off his legs while making unbroken optic contact with his opponent. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Minimus Ambus,” he said, coming to stand by Magnus’ chair. He took his delicate green head module in one of his hands and angled it toward the chessboard. 

“Watch,” Rodimus whispered. He slid his queen over to Magnus’ cornered king and swept the defenseless black piece off the board, replacing it with his own. The shock overtook Magnus for a few precious moments, freezing him so that he couldn’t move until his captain gently turned his head back to its original place. “Checkmate.” 

“You won,” Magnus said hollowly. 

“You bet your aft I did,” Rodimus answered, brushing the enforcer’s jaw. His spark was so erratic that he feared Rodimus could hear it bouncing around in its chamber. He nearly tipped over and halfway fell out of his own armor, but the brightly-colored and still-filthy 'bot raised an arm to catch him. 

“Well played.” Magnus was venting in small, shallow intakes.

“Thanks. And c’mon, take your loss with some grace. I know you don’t usually get this scrapped over it.” He patted Ambus’ small, broad chest before making for the door. “Ping me when you’re ready for our date tonight. Wear the armor if you feel like dressing up, but don’t throw your backstrut out about it. You know I like you either way.” 

All Magnus could do was watch Rodimus’ dusty yellow wing disappear into the corridor. 

* * *

The dim blue and violet lights of “Visages” always took Magnus’ optics some time to adjust to, but the atmosphere wasn’t unpleasant. And compared to its direct competitor, he rarely had to write the establishment up for not being up to code. It was a quiet night for Mirage, with only a few other 'bots lounging around. 

“Magnus!” Rodimus called from across the way, cheerfully waving him down. He’d found a cushy booth in the corner and already had a tall glass of engex in hand. “I’ll be honest, I was sort of hoping you’d come without any armor on.” 

The enforcer scooted his way into the booth, which proved to be a tight fit for the two of them. “The armor hides my shame,” he commented dryly. “Furthermore, I figured it’d look a bit silly if everyone were to see you on a date with me as Minimus Ambus.” 

Without warning, Rodimus slammed his drink down and half-grabbed, half-pounced onto Magnus’ arm. The latter had to quickly snatch the engex to keep it from spilling. “First of all, we were alone together, so only _I_ have the satisfaction of knowing I beat you at your own game. Second, this place is almost empty, and everyone knows what you look like under there, _and_ everyone knows we’re kind of a thing already, so who cares if you go on dates with your armor off?” 

Rodimus’ run-on sentence was spoken fast enough to give Blurr a run for his shanix. “I beg your pardon?” Magnus said, dumbstruck. 

“What I’m saying is, you should stop caring so much about how you look, and start paying attention to me.” 

Now that, that sounded like proper Rodimus language. 

“I’ll do my best, Rodimus. Have you ordered everything you wanted off the menu yet?” His date’s optics were already lighting up. 

“Minimus Ambus, I thought you’d never ask—” 

“Er, Rodimus? Ultra Magnus? I hate to interrupt you, but I think I should mention that I’m, well, here…” 

Both mechs jolted and whipped around to the source of the voice. A very timid-looking Rung was sitting at the very edge of their booth, with his hands in his lap. He even had a drink of his own. 

“ _Rung?_ ” Rodimus all but shouted. For one reason or another, he was still clinging to Magnus. “Sweet Primus, how long have you been sitting there? Moreover, did you need something? ‘Cause we’re kind of busy with something right now and Magnus is off-duty until I say so.” 

“I was sitting here before you came in. I was hesitant to say anything because I thought you wanted to share the booth with me, and I didn’t mind, but—” he gestured to the two of them in a way that made Magnus’ fuel lines go cold. “—I don’t think there’s enough room for three.” 

“Rung, I’m so sorry. Rodimus didn’t—We didn’t mean to intrude on you like this. We can easily relocate if need be.” But Rung was already waving a hand dismissively and shimmying out of his seat. His expression was mild, even though the whole thing had clearly made a dent in his composure. 

The psychiatrist laid a gentle hand on Magnus’ arm before stepping away. “No, I insist. If there’s anyone on board who needs some relaxation, it’s you. Don’t forget about our appointment next week, by the way,” Rung replied before strolling to a quieter corner of the bar. When the enforcer finally recovered from his own humiliation, he redirected his attention to Rodimus, who was gradually loosening up against him. 

It was good to know that even _he_ had a limit to how much shame he could take. 

“It wouldn’t kill him to _try_ and be noticeable every now and then. I swear on the Matrix that he didn’t say a word to me before you got here. But the answer to your question is a ‘no’, Magnus. This drink is only the start.” He stood up, tugging Magnus’ hand and prompting him to come along. “C’mon, you can get something nice for yourself too.” 

“Wait,” he said, standing firm against Rodimus’ attempts to drag him away. “There’s something I need to do first.” 

“What is it? You’re not going to try and ditch me, are you? And please tell me you’re not gonna walk over there and have a huge spark-to-spark with Rung right after he said it was all good.” Rodimus couldn’t go anywhere with Magnus anchoring him in place, but his legs refused to stop moving. 

Gently nudging the mech out of the way, Magnus jerked a thumb toward the door. “I’ll be in the hall right outside. “I’m being called right now and I need to take it.” 

“But you’re not on active duty!” 

Rodimus was getting antsy. Before he could think too much about it, he braced his hand against the side of the captain’s face and ran his thumb over his cheek. He felt like he was trying to soothe a mech like Ravage. “It’s a personal matter,” he said calmly. “By the time you’re done ordering, I should be back to pick up the tab.” 

“Fine,” Rodimus said, pouting. “But if I find out you’ve abandoned me, I’m putting this whole ship on lockdown.” 

“I’ve never abandoned you.” With that, Magnus walked out of “Visages” and into the hall, leaning his back straight up against the bulkhead. It was painful to do this, shameful almost. Yet for Rodimus’ sake, it had to be done. He pulled up Megatron’s personal frequency and gave it a ping. 

“You’re talkative today, Minimus,” Megatron deadpanned. “If this is about the chessboard, return it tomorrow.” 

“Megatron, I need to call in a favor. Two favors, because I also need you to question the nature of this favor as little as possible. I’m working under a time constraint.” 

Megatron vented audibly over the line. If it were any other mech, Magnus would have been concerned. “Very well, call them in.” 

“I’m going to need to borrow a hundred shanix.” 

“You, borrow currency? Is there a hostage situation, currently involving you, that I should be made aware of?” 

“No,” Magnus continued, trying to keep his hand twitches under control. “And I feel the need to remind you that I asked you not to question it.” 

“I was merely concerned for your safety,” Megatron cut in. 

“I appreciate it. In an effort to save time, I’ll briefly explain. I’m on a date with Rodimus right now and he’s currently running up one of the highest bar tabs of his life. If I were confident in my own finances, I’d—” 

“It’s yours.” 

Magnus nearly hit the back of his head against the wall. “Thank you,” he said simply. “I can pay you back in full by the end of next week.” 

“No need. You are far from being the only one who has ever fallen in love with a complete fool. I’ll wire it to you on the condition that you keep Rodimus as far away from me as possible until the start of tomorrow.” He closed the link before either mech could say goodbye, in typical Megatron fashion. 

Using the energon rushing through his circuits to push him forward, Magnus reentered the bar and returned to Rodimus’ side. The latter seemed relieved to have him back in the room, even as he was jabbering away at Mirage. He made it known by taking proper hold of Magnus’ hand, being sure to lace their fingers together, and doing a little dance where he stood. 

Unsurprisingly, Rodimus selected virtually every snack off the menu, and a flight of the most expensive engex the bartender had in stock. The tab was so high that Magnus’ central processor was spewing error messages at him, but he shoved them away and ordered his usual weak energon fizz. When the time came to sit back down in their intimately cramped booth, Rodimus practically dropped himself into the mech’s lap and dug into the array of oddly-shaped energon bits. 

“I already told you we’re alone, Magnus,” Rodimus said between sips of his engex. “This is a direct order to lighten the hell up and help me eat all of this.” 

Despite every impulse in his body wanting to do the opposite, Magnus forced himself to physically relax. He curled an arm around the shorter 'bot, who happily leaned up against his chest in response. And quickly, just in case anyone saw, he dared to smile down at Rodimus before taking a long drink. 

“I believe this is the part where you tell me about your day,” Magnus ventured. 

“Oh, that? Shoot, I wasn’t being serious about that part. Here,” Rodimus replied, handing him a piece of energon shaped vaguely like Tailgate’s head. “Let’s fast forward to the part where you tell me about _your_ day, Mags. Make it extra dull so I can start a recharge cycle in your arms.” 

Orders were orders. Magnus hoisted the 'bot up a bit, sitting him just upright enough in his lap that he could whisper directly into his audio processor. “In all honesty, Rodimus,” he hummed, “You’re the most interesting thing to have happened to me all day.” 

The shiver that ran through Rodimus’ body was priceless. 

“Whoa,” he said, turning to get a good look at Magnus. “You got comfortable fast. You didn’t turn your inhibitor chip off again, did you?” 

“Of course not. I merely took your suggestion, since this is our date. And it’s not as if—wait.” He pointed to the far side of the bar. “Is that—” 

“Looks like it,” Rodimus said dryly. “Can you believe them? They’re sitting out in the open and everything. Aw scrap, now they’re trying to pretend they don’t see us.” Downing the last of his first drink, he hopped out of the booth and started crossing the bar. “Drift! Ratchet!” 

Magnus could see the offending pair shrink back in their barstools as he followed behind the captain. Drift, for his part, actually did get his chassis checked out after all, and had on a smile that was as brilliant as his newly-polished exterior. On the other hand, Ratchet had the expression of someone who’d just been caught stealing energon rations directly from the cache. 

“What a coincidence, Rodimus! We weren’t expecting to run into anyone at this time of day, but fate has a wondrous way of bringing mechs together,'' Drift offered, folding his hands in front of him. 

“Uh-huh,” Rodimus drawled back, jutting his hip out the way he always did when he was unimpressed with something. “It was totally fate, and not you wanting to stake us out. That’s why you were gawking at us, right? And you got _Ratchet_ of all mechs in on it.” 

“The kid’s not lying, Rodimus. In fact, I came here to get Drift something to drink after you nearly smelted down his entire head module.” Ratchet clapped Drift’s shoulder for (unconvincing) emphasis. 

“That’s right,” Drift said. “Much like you two, we’re here on a date—” 

“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far.” 

“—And if you two want, we’d love to make it a double date. Ultra Magnus, has anyone told you how potent your aura has been lately? It’s really—” 

“No talking about his aura!” Rodimus shouted, stepping back to snake his arm around Magnus’ waist. “I’m not going to tell you to leave the bar, but if you’re going to spy on us, either do a better job of it or ask for permission next time.” Drift looked chastened, and Ratchet coughed awkwardly. 

The few mechs around the lounge were beginning to stare. Magnus supposed he didn’t have much else to lose today. Taking a deep intake, he rested a hand on the nexus of Rodimus’ hip and thigh. Then, in the most authoritative voice he could manage under the current situation, he said, “Rodimus, they’re clearly here on personal business.” He threw a furtive wink at Ratchet, something he hoped never to do again. “I suggest we leave them to it, enjoy the rest of our time here together, and write them up later if the jurisdiction necessitates it.” 

“You know what, Mags? You’re right.” Rodimus turned to go back to their booth, with Magnus in tow. “Enjoy the view of my aft from over there,” he grumbled over his shoulder. 

“I can’t help but ask, Rodimus. What did you tell Drift once you left the common room?” 

When the smaller mech had returned to his place in Magnus’ lap and claimed his second drink, he retorted. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t tell anyone anything. We didn’t even enter the bar at the same time, for slag’s sake.” 

Magnus took an overpriced hors d’oeuvre. “You _did_ allege that everyone already knew there was…” He picked his words carefully. “A particularly strong bond between us.” Not his best pick, honestly. 

“Yeah, and I didn’t think anyone cared. I’d like to think that my crew has better things to be doing than speculate about their captain’s love life. Which is going great, by the way. Thanks for taking me out tonight, big mech.” 

Pointing out the obvious fact that he’d been coerced turned out to be harder than Magnus expected. Instead, he channeled his compulsivity into giving Rodimus a little squeeze before going for more of the snacks. “It was nothing at all. Did you still want me to walk you back to your hab suite once we’ve finished here?” 

“Please.” 

* * *

The halls were quiet, perfect for walking hand-in-hand with a 'bot so full up on solid energon that he could barely move without assistance. Paying the bill had been painful, yes, but what mattered was that Rodimus seemed to have made the most of it. More than once, he’d stopped in his tracks to stare admiringly at Magnus and pay him a compliment. And every time, it made his head spin. 

“It’s funny,” Rodimus said, looking nothing short of satisfied. “I didn’t think you’d be this happy to spend time with me. I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like the dating type. Not when you’re always busy being so perfect and spending your spare time with Megatron and Ratchet…” Rodimus vented deeply. “I thought hatching an elaborate plan was the only way I could get you to go out with me.” 

Rodimus’ hab suite was only a few corridors away, but it felt like several miles more. “You planned all this?” Magnus said. “You could have asked me directly, but instead I had to spend the better half of an evening cleaning up a lounge—” 

“Please don’t be angry.” 

“I’m not angry. It would be more prudent to say that I’m disappointed you couldn’t be honest with me sooner.” 

“Okay, good,” Rodimus answered, lifting Magnus’ hand up to hold it against his chest. It took both of his own hands to do it, and even then, he was teetering. “I should probably tell you that I cheated during our match, too. I didn’t say ‘check’ when I was supposed to.” 

Magnus stared. 

“Oh Primus, you’re angry.” He was already rushing ahead, stumbling every step of the way. 

“Easy, Rodimus. I’m not angry with you. In fact—slow down, you’re going to fall.” Magnus lunged forward several paces and gathered the mech up in his arms. With his partner held tight against the front of his armor, he strode the rest of the way to Rodimus’ hab suite. Once the 'bot had been placed on his own doorstep, Magnus took a knee and held their gazes steady. 

“In fact,” he continued. “I couldn’t be further from anger. I love you.” 

Rodimus was silent for a long time. Without the two massive arms on either side of him, he would have fallen backward. After a while his lips began to tremble, as if he were waiting for his vocal processor to boot up. Magnus had never seen him this petrified. When the captain could finally find the words to say something, _anything_ , it came as a relief. He shrugged off Magnus’ steadying hands. 

“Til all are one,” he blurted out, before rushing inside his suite and shutting the door on his date. 

Magnus’ spark should have shrunk in that moment. He should’ve felt something other than sheer blindsidedness, but he didn’t. He knelt there in front of the cold gray bulkhead for exactly four-point-eight seconds, just long enough for the door to slide back open and reveal a Rodimus with optics the size of stars. 

He was there just long enough for Rodimus to rush in, clang their heads together, and crush a swift kiss against his mouth. 

“I’m sorry. I love you. _Frag_ , I love you.” Rodimus was like a whirlwind, moving too hastily for either mech to truly register it. He threw his arms around Magnus’ neck and embraced him. An unfathomably small gasp escaped him when Magnus caressed his spinal strut and pulled their chests closer in return. “Meet me on the bridge, first thing tomorrow. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.” 

“First thing,” Magnus whispered. The warmth of Rodimus’ touch lingered on his armor after they let go. “Good night, Rodimus. Recharge well.” 

“I think I will. Good night, Minimus.” 


End file.
